


Who Ate All the Biscuits: How Q Grew to Hate the Sight of Red and White Stripes

by christinefromsherwood, soufflegirl91



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alec's online shopping addiction, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, POV Q (James Bond), and we mean football here, football references, heheheheheh, like you know the one you play with an actual ball by kicking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26491918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christinefromsherwood/pseuds/christinefromsherwood, https://archiveofourown.org/users/soufflegirl91/pseuds/soufflegirl91
Summary: So, imagine that you start dating a double-oh, yeah? And it's all great. And then you move in together. It's fantastic. But then he has to go and break his ankle. Now, Alec does nothing but eat his body-weight in biscuits, watch football andshop online.
Relationships: Q/Alec Trevelyan
Comments: 30
Kudos: 33





	Who Ate All the Biscuits: How Q Grew to Hate the Sight of Red and White Stripes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bonesandchekov (blueharlequin)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueharlequin/gifts).



> Souffle here, leaving a NOTE for once! (Yes, I usually let Christine do all the hard work. Wouldn't you?) This fic is a 007 Fest prize fic for bonesandchekov, who prompted Alec/Q with a happy ending. Now, we only do happy endings, so that wasn't hard, BUT as this was my first time writing Alec as more than a background character, I called in the big guns (AKA Christine) to help me. 
> 
> We hope you enjoy the results!

“Oh, and while you’re in there, I wouldn’t say no to a cuppa.”

Q rolled his eyes at the voice calling from the living room, dumping the pile of empty boxes on the counter. Grumbling under his breath about “bored bloody double-ohs doing _all_ the online shopping,” Q flicked the kettle on, tightening the dripping tap. He might as well make himself a cup of tea, too. He’d certainly earned it. 

“And maybe some biscuits?” 

Resting his elbows on the counter, Q heaved a sigh. Tea and biscuits. He could do tea and biscuits. It wasn’t like this was a permanent thing, was it? Just a few more weeks. And then things could go back to normal and Alec would never need to know. 

Would he?

While waiting for the kettle to boil, Q groped around in the snack cupboard to see what they had left. He would have to stock up again, soon. Clearly, Alec had been taking advantage of this enforced break from his rigorous exercise regime to eat his body weight in biscuits. His search yielded only two results: a mostly-full packet of custard creams, and the last few chocolate hobnobs. 

Q stared at the packets. It shouldn’t have been a hard choice. Custard creams or hobnobs? What did it matter after all. And Alec _was_ injured. Q thought back to his own grueling commute home, and what he found once he opened the door. 

It wasn’t like he thought living together would be some kind of a rosy fairytale. They were both grown men, used to living on their own terms but-

Well. Alec may be injured, but _he_ had stayed home all day. _Q_ had been stuck in the office since 6.30 that morning trying to extricate James bloody Bond from the lion’s den in Antigua. He was keeping the hobnobs for himself. 

Leaving the tea to brew in the pot, safely ensconced under the red and white striped tea cosy, Q poked his head through into the lounge. 

“Oi, catch!” 

Alec, never taking his eyes off the football match, caught the packet of biscuits Q lobbed at his head. Apparently, the enforced rest had done nothing to dull his reflexes. 

“Cheers, love.” 

Huffing a fond laugh at his distracted partner, Q took in the scene. 

Alec was exactly where Q had left him. Stretched out along the entire length of their sofa, leg propped up on a cushion, attention fixed on the TV. Wearing _that_ football shirt. 

Q honestly had to blink a couple of times to stop his eyes from watering at the red and white stripes the first time he saw it. Now it felt like they shone bright enough to scorch his retinas against their black sofa. Oh and the matching _scarf_ ! Naturally, Alec was also wearing a scarf. (Inside! Who wears a scarf _inside?!_ ) A proper football hooligan. 

“Who’s winning?” Q made himself ask.

“Well, Hull just equalized, but it’s still all to play for.” Alec glanced away from the match to give Q a confident grin. Q tried to put on a face that said he was appropriately anxious, but also had complete faith in his favourite team. “We’ll come out on top, don’t you worry. Tea mashing?”

Mashing. _Mashing_. Bloody northerners!

“It’ll just be a minute. Your new tea cosy is keeping it warm,” Q replied brightly (he hoped). Then his eyes fell on _that thing_ on the coffee table. “I see you bought a new mug.” 

Alec beamed, shifting awkwardly to hand _the mug_ to Q. “Isn’t it great? Personalised, too, and a right bargain.” 

Great… Well, great wasn’t quite the word Q would use. Atrocity? Perhaps. Eye-sore? Getting warmer. The ugliest piece of red-and-white striped crap to ever pollute the inside of his kitchen cupboard? Yeah, that one was it. 

“Wonderful,” Q responded drily with a slight delay as he turned back into the kitchen. Alec, attention firmly back on the game, didn’t pick up on the sarcasm. 

This was starting to become a problem. 

It had been fine before, really it had. Before they had moved in together, Q hadn’t needed to feign much interest in football, because they were usually too distracted by each other for it to come up. 

The occasional smile and nod, offhand comment about Sheffield United’s performance, that was it. Alec had always looked so _pleased_ when Q mentioned them! 

And after Alec had moved in, things hadn’t really changed. Usually, he was on mission or Q was working, so Q wasn’t actually _expected_ to watch the football with him. Q’s secret had been safe. It was perfect. 

Only then Alec had _broken his ankle_ and now he was stuck in a cast for 8 bloody weeks. During the height of bloody football season. 

With _unlimited_ access to Amazon. 

And Q simply wasn’t sure how long he could stand it anymore!

He went to get the milk out of the fridge and groaned as he caught sight of a new fridge magnet. Case in point!

They now had Sheffield United _everything._ It wasn’t just Alec’s apparel, or the mug, or even the bloody _tea cosy._

It was the doormat. 

Alec’s toothbrush. 

The _fucking_ _shower curtain!_

Everywhere Q looked, there were red and white stripes.

He slammed the fridge door shut, glaring at the magnet that refused to fall off. 

The simple, unvarnished truth of the matter was: Q hated football. Not so much the sport itself, though he found that unspeakably dull, but the _culture._ The whole “I support this team, and this team only. I will show my support by dressing head to toe in their colours” aspect of it. It was garish! It was childish! It was… well, it was just plain _stupid_ is what it was! 

And yet, here he was, in his own home surrounded by _merchandise._

It was _horrible._

And it was also all his own fault. 

There had been a brief window of opportunity when he could have come clean to Alec, could have said: “Sorry, love, remember before when I’d asked about football results? I’d just been making conversation. Please, don’t turn our home into a clubhouse. It upsets Lizzy’s digestion and makes me want to rip my eyes out.” 

Q wasn’t absolutely certain but he thought that window of opportunity appeared when Alec got the tea cosy and closed after he bought the doormat. And Q had missed it. 

In fact, he had underestimated the whole thing. He’d looked at the tea pot, suppressed a wince and told himself that it wasn’t a big deal. It was just because of the football season. And they had other, non-hideous tea cosies. And after a week or so, Alec might not notice if he stashed his crime against crochet to the back of the cupboard. 

Oh, how very wrong he’d been.

Q emptied the hobnobs onto a side plate before carefully balancing it on top of his mug. Grasping Alec’s monstrosity in his other hand, he took a calming breath and faced the living room once more. 

“Oi, ref! Penalty!” 

Q stopped in the door, staring blankly as Alec continued gesticulating at the screen.

Nope. 

He could not, _would not_ sit through an hour of this. Not after the day he’d had. It wasn’t even half time yet!

“I’m just going to take my tea and have a bath,” he announced brightly, as if the idea had not in fact occurred to him in the past 3 seconds. “I’ll order Thai for dinner, shall I?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, sure.” Alec took the mug from Q’s outstretched hand without taking his eyes off the screen. “Extra satay?” 

“Of course.” 

Nudging the bathroom door closed behind him, Q let his head fall back against the door with a thud. 

It wasn’t Alec’s fault, Q reminded himself. It wasn’t Alec’s fault that he was injured and stuck at home. It wasn’t his fault that Q didn’t like football or football memorabilia. It wasn’t his fault that Q hadn’t _told_ him that. 

Q really should have told him. 

But Alec always looked so _pleased_ with his purchases. He was genuinely happy to receive every bit of red and white _crap_ that landed on the doorstep. Plus, Alec regularly risked his life in the line of duty. He’d broken his ankle jumping out of a building that had been about to explode! Didn’t he deserve nice things? 

Q closed his eyes with a sigh. He did. Alec deserved all the nice things.

Q could live with it, really he could. 

So red wasn’t his favourite colour, but he could cope, if it made Alec happy. After all, he’d be away on a mission again soon enough and Q could just… hide everything, while he was away. 

And then he’d just have to put it back once Alec returned. That could work. Surely.

He placed his tea and biscuits carefully on the floor by the bath. 

A nice lovely bath would be just the thing. Hot water, bubbles… Q could already feel the muscles in his neck relaxing with the promise of a nice, long soak. 

He went to shove the awful shower curtain out of the way. Humming to distract himself from the red and white monstrosity, he leaned in to turn on the tap. And then he saw it. A brief flash of red. It had been just out of the corner of his eyes, but Q was sure- He turned. 

There, on the towel rail. 

Red and white striped towels. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Tomorrow. _Tomorrow,_ he would tell Alec to stop it.

* * *

“‘Alec, I know you like football, but have you considered _not_ buying all of the fake branded shit they sell on the internet.’ No, too confrontational. ‘Don’t you think we have _enough_ memorabilia already?’ Hmm, too vague.” 

Q was muttering to himself as he walked back from the tube station towards their flat. This being London, no one bothered to give him a second glance. 

“How about ‘Alec, I love that you’re so passionate about your home team, but I really think we have too much stuff already. Please could you take it easy with the online shopping.’ It’s clear, polite, not confrontational.” He sighed. “Well, it’s as good as I’ll get.” 

Bracing himself for whatever fresh deliveries lay in store tonight, he climbed the stairs to the third floor. He took a deep breath, bucked up his courage, and unlocked the door. 

All of his carefully prepared words deserted him at the sight. 

The dining table, usually pushed up against the wall, had been pulled out into the middle of their open-plan lounge. A tiny part of Q’s mind worried about how Alec had managed that with a walking cast and a broken ankle, but the rest of him was distracted by the table. Covered in a white tablecloth and neatly laid with chopsticks, a vase of white chrysanthemums in the centre. 

“You’re early!”

And there, leaning on his crutch, was Alec. Wearing a pale green shirt with a few buttons undone. Suave but slightly rumpled; Q’s favourite look on him. It wasn’t even ruined by the loose jogging bottoms he wore to accommodate the cast. 

“What’s all this?” he asked, leaning in for a kiss.

“Well.” Alec flashed him a bright grin, green eyes gleaming. “You’ve been working your arse off, and I’ve been lazing about at home. I ordered us some sushi from the place you like.”

“Oh, you!” Q dragged him down again, ignoring Alec’s surprised laugh.

“Come on,” Alec said, when Q finally released him. “Raw fish waits for no man, not even the king boffin. Would you like some sake afterwards?”

“Really, I can-” Q felt bad having Alec wait on him when the man was on _crutches_ and Q had two perfectly functioning ankles, but Alec cut him off.

“Sit down and let me spoil you.” He leaned back in for one last peck on the lips and hobbled off into the kitchen. 

Q hung up his coat and slipped off his dress shoes, dropping his laptop bag on the sofa on the way past. Not wanting to let Alec struggle too much, he pulled out both chairs before taking his seat and sweeping his eyes over the table once more. The flowers, the glasses waiting to be filled, the chopsticks, even the napkins.

 _Red and white_ napkins. 

“And it was all going so well,” Q sighed to himself. Oh, well. He wouldn’t let his annoyance at the mere existence of red and white striped napkins ruin Alec’s romantic gesture. He would simply enjoy the meal, and the company, and then accidentally donate the remaining napkins to Q Branch’s next charity bake sale.

“Here we go.” Alec reappeared in the doorway. “I can only manage one plate at a time with these bloody things, but I won’t be offended if you start without me. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can put the telly on. Wouldn’t want to miss the pre-game rundown.”

Wait, _what?_

Alec placed the plate in front of Q with a flourish and turned back to fetch his own.

Q stared down at the monstrosity before him. 

Oh, not the _sushi_ , that looked delicious enough, but the- _._

He whimpered.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered to the nigiri before getting up full of grim determination.

“Did you say something?” Leaning on his crutches, Alec was looking at him over his shoulder with a small, confused smile. 

Q gulped as he laid one hand on his shoulder and led him to his chair. He purposefully didn’t look at the _thing_ on the table. He didn’t think he’d have the strength and self-control to do what had to be done, if he did.

“Alec,” he began. His palm had turned sweaty from where he was clutching Alec’s hand. “We need to talk.” 

“Q-” There was no sign of Alec’s previous smile. Instead, his face had stilled in a painfully neutral expression, and his eyes were watching warily as Q squatted beside his chair. 

“Please, let me just say this. I need to get this out. I-” Q took in a shuddering breath and tried to remember the speech he had prepared. His mind drew a blank. 

Fuck.

“Alec, I am so sorry,” he whispered. “I should have said something earlier. I know I should have, but I love you and you were- and I thought- It hadn’t _felt_ like a lie! Not at the start and-” He knew he was babbling. The stony hurt on Alec’s face wasn’t helping, but there was no stopping now. “I thought I could handle it, I really did, but I can’t, Alec. I can’t. I didn’t want to hurt you but I can’t _live a lie_! I can’t-”

“Love?” Q had to look away at the tremor in Alec’s voice. “What are you saying? Is this-” Alec cleared his throat and oh, it was awful! A part of Q wished he’d just kept the whole thing to himself, that he’d never started this, but one look at their table confirmed his initial decision. 

There it was. Covered with artfully arranged rolls of rice. Their new dinner plate. 

“Love, whatever it is, I don’t want...”

It was part of a set, Q was certain. He had no doubt that if he was to get up and walk into their kitchen, open their cupboards, he’d find four more just like that. 

And soup bowls. And dessert plates. Probably even a tureen. The whole dinner set. 

All red and white and with the fucking logo of the fucking football club that no nigiri or tempura could hide. Sure, Q could slather it in wasabi, but he would always _know_. 

“We can get through this, right, Q?” Alec was saying, hands gripping Q’s shoulders. “Just tell me what’s wrong and I can-”

“I CAN’T LIVE LIKE THIS ANYMORE!” Q yelled. The sudden, terrible silence lasted a whole ten drips of water from the tap in the kitchen. Alec must have forgotten to tighten it properly again. Q swallowed, and made himself look straight into Alec’s eyes. 

“I love you, Alec, you know I do. But the new plates were the last straw and-”

“You’re breaking up with me because I bought new dinner plates?!” 

“What?! No! Of course, I’m not fucking breaking up with you! I just can’t sit by and watch you turn our home into a football-infested, hideous circle of hell straight from Dante’s inferno!” Now that he had released the cork, the words just wouldn’t stop. “I could have handled the bathmat and the doormat. I could have stood the fucking teacosy and the mug. But towels? And a shower curtain? And an entire dinner set?! What’s next? Curtains? Bed sheets? This has to stop, Alec! I know you aren’t colourblind and I know you love your club, but I can’t fucking stand it, love, and if I never have to listen to another fucking chant again it will be too soon!”

He stopped, breathing hard.

Belatedly, he realised that Alec’s death grip on his shoulders had disappeared. 

Q felt a trickle of dread down the back of his spine. 

Alec wasn’t even looking at him anymore. Instead, he had propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders were shaking. 

Oh, god. 

He really hadn’t thought Alec would be so upset over his declaration. A little pissed off, maybe, but that was all. Alec was always good-humoured. Q had never seen him cry before, not even after the toughest missions. 

_Oh, god._

He had made Alec _cry_. 

He had broken Alec. 

He had _broken_ a double-oh agent and the love of his life. 

M was going to kill him. M was going to send _James bloody Bond_ after him, and Q was going to die a cruel and unusual death for making Bond’s best friend cry. And Bond really didn’t need to hurt him, because seeing Alec cry was torture enough, and-

Alec finally tipped his head back, wiping the tears from his eyes and-

Revealing a huge grin?

“You’re _laughing_ at me.” Q was bewildered, brain practically giving him whiplash on the turn from guilt and existential dread at thinking he had made Alec cry to… this. “Why are you laughing at me?”

Ok, Q might have thought that tears were an overreaction to his outburst, but _laughter_? That was just as confusing. What had he said that was so funny? Alec had a strange sense of humour, but it didn’t usually extend to laughing at other people’s frustration. Unless...

“You knew,” he realised, staring into Alec’s giant laughing face. “You fucking knew?! You prick!”

He made to get up but Alec’s hand stopped him. 

“I’m sorry, love. I’m not laughing at you,” he said, still chuckling. Q went to shake him off, but Alec held on fast. “I’m really not. I just-” He tugged at his hand and Q reluctantly let himself be pulled into his lap. He scoffed angrily, but couldn’t help the way he instantly relaxed when Alec rested his forehead against his shoulder. 

“For a moment there, I really thought you wanted to end things. That I’d fucked it up,” he mumbled into Q’s sleeve. Q gave him a poke in the ribs. 

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“You were nearly crying, love!”

Ridiculous! 

“Well, I thought _you_ were crying!” Q cried out, pulling away slightly. “And that Bond was going to come after me seeking revenge!”

“Wh-” Alec blinked at him.

“And what were you even doing buying up all that crap?!”

Alec gave him a guilty grin. “I’ve known you don’t give a toss about football.”

Q stared, letting that sink in. “Since when?”

“Since the start, love. You’re not exactly an Oscar-worthy actor.”

“Hey-”

“Remember our first dinner together?”

Q remembered. Alec had just returned from a mission and Q found himself inviting him over and then panicking if he’d made enough spaghetti. After, they sat on the sofa and-

“Well, they were talking about Chris Kamara on the news, and you asked me what kind of photography this Chris did that his camera was so famous.”

Q slapped his hands over his eyes. That had been early days yet. Before he had taken the time to write down a few important names and try his hardest to understand what exactly offside was and why it was such a big deal. 

“And you just let me make a fool of myself?!” He poked Alec in the ribs again.

Batting away his hand, Alec shrugged. Q was pleased to know that the guilty grin hadn’t left him just yet. 

“It was nice to see that you cared so much right from the start,” he said. “And after I’d broken my ankle… Well, I really do like the tea cosy.” Of course, he did. Q rolled his eyes. “And then I wanted to tease you a bit, see how long it took before you admitted the truth. And then it got out of hand.”

“Because I lasted longer than you thought,” Q pointed out. He was under no illusion that he had somehow won in this battle of wills. The last few weeks had been hell, but still. He felt it was an important point to make. 

“Because you’re a stubborn little shit.” Alec grinned, squeezing his hip. “Honestly, I was just about ready to pull out the condoms-”

“The _what_?”

Alec cackled. “Sheffield United has their own line of condoms.”

“No, they don’t.”

“ _Play for the big leagues_. It’s on the box.”

“That’s the worst news I’ve heard all day. And I had to listen to Bond justify why he’d deployed his emergency-only Smell Grenade in Heathrow Airport,” Q informed him, before looking him deep in the eye. “I hope you know, you’re throwing them out.”

“All of them?”

“How many did you buy?!” 

“Oh, you know, a box or two.” Q raised a skeptical eyebrow at Alec’s shit-eating grin. “Or five.”

“You bought _five boxes_ of branded condoms? How much sex did you think we were going to _have_ , Alec?!” 

“Well, I thought we could-” 

Q slapped a hand over Alec’s mouth before he could continue. 

“Well, you can donate them to the family planning clinic.” And then, because Alec looked crestfallen at the lack of condoms in their future, he added: “I just stocked up on Durex, anyway.” 

Q retracted his hand and rolled his eyes at Alec’s smirk. His stomach rumbled, which reminded him of the dinner they had yet to eat.

“I’ll go and fetch the rest of the sushi.” He stood up, bum complaining since Alec’s knees really weren’t that comfortable. “While I’m at it, you can be thinking about what football crap you want to keep. You can have four things.” Alec looked suspiciously gleeful, so Q hurriedly continued: “Not the condoms. I refuse to fuck anything that resembles a candy cane. Nothing in the bathroom. And no crockery!” 

He might be leaving himself wide open to keeping the doormat, but, he mused, at least he could wipe his feet on that. 

**Author's Note:**

> So how was it? Do we get a yellow card, or a red card, or a green card? (As you can see, we are very knowledgeable about all things football.) 
> 
> **If you enjoyed this, you might like how we tackle 00Q which is souffle's and mine main focus:**
> 
>   * [Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26119993) by christinefromsherwood, soufflegirl91 _\- 5k, an established 00Q, they go for a perfectly planned picnic, absolutely everything goes according to plan, 100%_
>   * [Holding Out For A Hero](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23425648) by christinefromsherwood, soufflegirl91 _\- 3k, James Bond gets the most baffling mission briefing of his career, but is everything the way it seems muahahaha, fluff and humour, naturally_
>   * [The Dick Fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25503640) by soufflegirl91 _\- 3k, pre-00Q, Bond has an annoying habit of gifting people he works with with incredibly inappropriate souvenirs, humour,_
>   * [Through A New Lens: A Spectacular Love Story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26255149) by christinefromsherwood _\- 10k, E-rated, getting together 00q, post-SPECTRE fix it, Q is fine with things being the way they are, only then he sees Bond wearing reading glasses and fuuuuuUUUUck_
>   * [The Great Pastry Chouxdown](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25017319) by soufflegirl91 _\- 8k, established 00Q, Q makes a very unwise baking bet with Bill Tanner and the future of his relationship might hang in the balance. dun-dun-DUUUN!, fluff and humour_
>   * [Make Marmalade (When Life Gives You Lemons)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25458352) by christinefromsherwood _\- 2k, established 00q, emotional rollercoaster with a very happy ending, they argue about a jar of marmalade_
> 



End file.
